Hailing General S’orn, the prince covered his nose and leaned
back against the palanquin. Gads, this
marshland smelled nearly as noxious as the gorse clustering his land.

“Sire?”

“Surely it’s not much further?”

“No, sire. The belfry can be seen just around the bend.”

Dismissing him with a terse nod, Rajn reflected on the philanthropic
mission to bring food and medicine to the monks and his egregious lack of self-
control with the Grand Duke’s wife; resulting in his being sent as the Goodwill
Ambassador.

***

“The Prince and his men, unaware that the monks had gone
mad, were slaughtered as they approached the abbey, their bodies consumed in a
satanic ritual.”

Steven bit into his cheesesteak, ignoring the disapproving
glares of the other tourists.Oblivious
of the hooded shadows following them, he leered at the guide and wondered if
she would give him a private tour of the Monk’s Abbatoir.